


Oaths and Other Promises

by curds_and_wheyface



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies RPF, Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: Fratboy fic, M/M, Non-sexual Hazing, Non-sexual humiliation, blowjob, dub-con warning for safety sake, elements of power imbalance, it's consensual though I swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 09:09:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curds_and_wheyface/pseuds/curds_and_wheyface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Hell Week at the Alpha Epsilon Mu fraternity house. Chris is a frat brother and Tom is his pledge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oaths and Other Promises

**Author's Note:**

> So, [rangerdanger](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rangerdanger/pseuds/rangerdanger) asked for a prompt and in the process of me asking her to write this she somehow talked me into writing it myself. So, again, this is her fault. (She was also good enough to read through it for me, what a darling, but any remaining mistakes are my own.)
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not, nor have I ever been, in a fraternity. Sorry for any inaccuracies herein.

It's early November and there's already a six inch blanket of snow on the ground. Chris fucking hates New England.  
  
Taylor woke him up twenty minutes ago by whacking him in the face with a dirty sock, something he's going to get his revenge for later, and now they're standing with the rest of their fraternity brothers on the upper middle floor landing of the Frat House, about to barge their way into the rooms of the new pledges.  
  
Chris is his second year into Greek life at Alpha Epsilon Mu, having pledged almost by accident only three months after his family's big move from Aus to Maine. The whole concept of Greek Life had been lost on him, really, but during his despondent viewing of the too-cold, too-posh campus a stray football had come hurtling towards his head at full speed.  
   
He'd lifted a hand reflexively and caught the thing out of midair, maybe the most effortlessly cool moment of his whole life, and had immediately been accosted by the thrower and his friends, college-goers with Greek lettered shirts demanding that he pledge Alpha Epsilon Mu.

And so he had, and after surviving two months of fairly harrowing pledging rituals he'd been welcomed into the Brotherhood with open arms. This year he's experiencing pledging again, only this time he's happily on the other side of the fence.  
  
The new pledges have been running errands and playing designated driver to the brothers for just over a month and a half, have already been whittled from an impressive thirty to the current seventeen, and just yesterday the remaining pledges were all invited to move into the house. There's only room for ten of them, with five double rooms on the mid-level of the house, so there is one hopeful pledge sleeping on the floor in each room and one unlucky bastard sleeping in the bath.  
  
It's just after two in the morning and Chris and the other brothers are all in coats, hats and gloves, all wearing boots or shoes with thermal socks, ready for a little trip out into the snow. The pledges, however, are sleeping soundly on the other side of the six doors.  
  
Taylor gives the signal and the brothers rush in, snatching the distressed pledges from their beds and dragging them, kicking and writhing, from beneath their blankets. Chris and one of the older brothers, Greg, burst into the second room on the right and instead of finding one pledge on the floor like they expected they find two of the pledges in one of the beds.  
  
"Comfy, boys?" Greg cackles, tearing the blanket from them, and they both shoot up from the bed looking like their hearts are about to fall out of their mouths. They're wearing boxer shorts and t-shirts, no sign of anything untoward going on between them, but that doesn't stop Greg from commenting as he grabs each of them by the back of their necks, "Something you buttboys want to declare to the Brotherhood?"  
  
They spend the trip downstairs vehemently denying anything sexual going on between them while Chris tails behind them dragging a chunky guy named Harvey who won the favour of the Fraternity by bringing a truckload of cake-pops to sign up.  
  
One of the two from the bed is British; Chris remembers him for that and also for his ridiculous, curly blonde hair. With the added shakes he's exhibiting now he reminds Chris of a poodle. He's also got a pretty mouth, Chris has noted several times over the last few weeks; small and with thin, pink lips that curl prettily around all the nonsense he spews at them about the history of literature.  
  
They're the last ones out, directing their three pledges to the line-up already standing out on the snow, most of them in underwear and vests or t-shirts with their hands crossed over their crotches looking like they were about to face a firing squad rather than a group of overenthusiastic fratboys.  
  
They're all shivering pitifully, some of them already going a greyish blue at the knees and elbows, and Chris notices with a wince that not a single one of them has on so much as a pair of socks to protect their feet from the blanket of snow.  
  
He finds that his gaze is drawn again to the British pledge as he hops from foot to foot, looking up and down the line of other pledges to see how they're fairing in the freezing powder. His t-shirt is pale and so threadbare that his small, erect nipples are evident through it, hardened no doubt by the cold. Chris wishes he could remember his name.  
  
Taylor, the frat's unchallenged leader, steps forward from the rest of the brothers, snow crunching loudly under his booted feet, and opens his arms wide to the pitiful looking pledges.  
  
"As you already know, there are seventeen of you and only ten beds in the house," he announces, sounding rehearsed and just a bit like he's from a reality TV show. He bares his teeth in a smile. "So we're going to play a game."  
  
The pledges all look appropriately nervous.  
  
"Each of my brothers here will pick one of you to complete a challenge. If you complete the challenge then you get to be his Pledge Brother for the next week. If you fail then you'll join the line-up again and go head-to-head with the other losers until one of you is eliminated."  
  
He looks so pleased with himself, his wide grin caricature-like, something like a Disney villain, and for the first time in a long time Chris is reminded of how it felt to be in the early morning line-up with the other pledges. Taylor wasn't the Frat leader then, but he'd been present and no doubt had been cooking up his own ideas in the entire year since.  
  
They go down the line, each brother choosing a pledge and subjecting him to either a mental or physical challenge, made all the harder by the snow. Greg picks on a Hispanic kid named Christian who they've all started calling Jesus - which Taylor assured them 'wasn't problematic' in one of the nine secret meetings he's called in the last week - and gets him to hop on one foot whilst singing the National Anthem. He gets the words wrong more than once but even Chris has to admit that it's a pretty stunning rendition given the circumstances, and so he joins the group of 'approved pledges' to their left.  
  
Chris is fifth down the line simply because of where he stood and he's glad of it when it gets to his turn and nobody has picked the English pledge yet.  
  
Taylor steps up beside him and slaps him solidly on the shoulder. "Brother Chris, choose your pledge."  
  
His mind is already made up, obviously, but he lets the moment hang, some sick part of him enjoying the expectant looks on all of their shivering faces. "I'll take curly over there," he says, lifting on finger in a casual point.  
  
The pledge visibly gulps, his eyes flashing to Chris with a mixture of terror and relief that has Chris fighting a mad grin. There's a part of him, already unkindly excited at the prospect of having his very own pledge to boss around, which is pleased by his pledge's apparent fear.  
  
Chris beckons him forwards.  
  
He walks up quickly, stopping before Chris but still shifting from foot to foot to rub the no-doubt-freezing soles against his shins. Chris steps closer, making a point of looming over him. The pledge hops a little on the spot and rubs at his upper arms, pulling his elbows into his body to stave off the cold.  
  
"How many push-ups can you do, Pledge?" Chris asks.  
   
The pledge sort of laughs shortly, incredulous, like the question is stupid. "Not many, Brother."  
   
The flippancy annoys Chris a bit, especially since his brothers had all managed to instil actual stuttering from their pledges. He lifts a brow, expression as grim as he can manage. "A number, Pledge. Give me a number."  
  
The pledge looks around behind him as if one of the others might hold the answer to Chris' question but, of course, they all remain stoic as if the snow and the dread have conspired to turn them into statues.  
   
His pledge looks back to him, unsure. "...six?"  
   
"Are you asking me or telling me?" Chris crosses his arms over his chest, the outer-material of his windbreaker rustling against itself and reminding Chris how cold the pledges must be. At least the challenge will warm him up a bit.  
   
The pledge drops his shoulders and makes an attempt to look confident in his answer. "I can do six push-ups, Pledge Brother."  
   
Ten won't be enough to please the brotherhood, Chris knows, or enough to send a message of authority, but he doesn't want to set a challenge that this pledge can't complete. He wants this one for his own. With a thoughtful hum he lets his eyes pass over his pledge's upper arms as he continues to rub at them, noting that, though he's thin, there is definite muscle tone there.  
  
He steps back with one foot, keeping the other out in front of him, and points down. "I want you to drop and give me twelve push-ups, Pledge. And each time you lower yourself...I want you to kiss my boot."  
  
Every last drop of good humour is gone from the pledge's face when he meets Chris' eyes, forehead drawn and wrinkled in the middle. He opens his mouth as if to question the command but at Chris' raised brow he snaps it shut again. He looks once more to his fellow pledges, some of whom offer up encouraging nods, before giving his arms one last rub and slowly dropping to his knees.  
  
He shudders more obviously as he pushes his legs out behind him and digs his toes into the snow for grip. Chris places his foot beneath the pledge's face once he's settled in plank position on his palms.  
  
"Don't worry about counting," Chris smiles as he aims another unsure look up at him. "I'll count. You just concentrate on the burn."  
  
It's with something like pride that Chris watches his pledge obediently bend his elbows for the first time and lower himself towards the ground, pursing his lips over the shiny leather toe of Chris' boot and lingering for a moment before pushing himself back up.  
  
"One," Chris smiles.

The next five seem to be easy too, though he seems to start struggling by the seventh; slowing as he lifts himself up and grunting lightly for the first time, and though he doesn't let it show on his face Chris does feel sympathy. He can imagine the burn of cold muscles forced into sudden action, no time for warm ups, especially since it seems unlikely that the pledge has to regularly lift something equivalent to his own weight.  
  
Still, the pledge drops his nose to Chris' boot again and lets another panting kiss land.  
  
By the tenth drop his arms are visibly shaking, his palms slipping in the melted snow, and it's beyond obvious that his muscles are rebelling against the task. As he lowers himself he lets out a long, pained grunt, his mouth pressing, open, against Chris' boot, and when he breathes out heavily against the leather his breath spreads like a white mist in the cold air.  
  
He manages to lift himself again, waiting for Chris to mutter 'eleven' before letting his elbows bend again. He almost drops himself as he hand moves suddenly on the wet ground but he manages to right himself and press his lips one final time to Chris' shoe.  
  
On the last push Chris lifts his knee, using his boot beneath the pledge's chin to help him straighten his arms a final time.  
  
He drops to his knees then, unsteady, and while Chris feels proud on his behalf he sees nothing but upset on the pledge's red face. Still, he does accept a hand to help him up, and allows Chris to slap him heavily on the arm as he heads over to the others.  
  
-  
  
By the end of the challenges all but three of them are standing to the left having completed their challenges. Taylor sends them on a barefoot race from the house to the middle of the square, waiting for them to get back before ordering them to go again, reminding them that the loser will be cast out of the fraternity.  
  
Incredibly, the chubby kid Harvey makes it back a full twenty seconds before the last pledge; a guy rivalling Chris' pledge in skinniness who, only after the race is done, pulls out a blue inhaler from the pocket of his pyjama bottoms. Chris feels immediately like shit as he bends double and huffs desperately at the thing, but Taylor only claps his hands until he has the pledge's attention and points at the house.  
  
"When you're done you'll need to pack your things. One of the boys'll give you a ride to the housing office, I'm sure they'll fit you in." He turns to the group then, rubbing his hands together cheerfully while they all watch their lost pledge trudge back to the house, and then he spreads his arms wide again like he did when they first lined up. "Welcome to Hell Week, bitches."  
  
-  
  
Back in the house they shove all of the pledges into the living room and hand out blankets, letting them sit down all wrapped up until they're shivering slightly less. Then, one by one they have to stand before their Pledge Brother and say the oath.  
  
When it's his turn, Chris' pledge lets the blanket slip from his shoulders as he stands, stepping awkwardly around the other huddling pledges until he stands before Chris and tilts his face up. Up close his eyes are a more obvious blue than Chris had realised, and his narrow nose is slightly crooked at the tip. He half-smiles self-consciously and then sucks in a breath.  
  
"I pledge myself to my Brother Chris," he murmurs, his voice still slightly shaky from the cold, or maybe from nerves. "I will respect and abide by his word, I will serve him with pride and humility. To all of this I pledge my sacred honor. So help me God."  
  
His voice is rich and smooth; a pleasant, powdery tone, and his oath is said with an air of sincerity that makes Chris inexplicably pleased with his choice.  
  
Afterwards, as everybody files out of the living room and back up to bed, Chris catches his pledge by the elbow on the stairs and asks his name.  
  
The pledge laughs a little bit, sort of self-deprecating, and then shrugs. "Tom."  
  
Chris smiles a little bit, suddenly tired and feeling the chill in the house since he shrugged his coat off in the living room. "You did well out there," he says, though he's not sure why. Tom doesn't thank him, but he does offer up that half-smile again before he heads up to the middle floor and trailing after his two roommates as they head back into their room.  
  
"Pledge," Chris calls before Tom can disappear into his room completely, and at his pledge's questioning look he points a finger. "I don't want to catch you sharing your bed again, okay? You're mine now."  
  
He's not sure why he says it, feels a hot tingling at the back of his neck as soon as the words are finished forming on his tongue, but Tom just nods shakily and slowly closes the door.  
  
-  
  
The rest of the week goes by in much the same fashion, with the brotherhood inventing more and more ridiculous tasks for their pledges during breakfast or over lunch between classes. Making them clean the house is the obvious start, and after two days they've got it worked out which of the pledges make the best breakfasts so they get those two up every morning half an hour before everyone else to start cooking. Chris has never eaten so much bacon in his life.  
  
Mostly he's using his own pledge for menial tasks like cleaning up or typing out his work, as if he's Chris' secretary or something, or ordering him to go out and run the engine on the cold car until it heats up a bit.  
  
If he needs something from his room and he can't be bothered going up two levels for them he'll call out "Pledge!" at the bottom of the stairs and wait.  
   
A few heads appear over the railing, like meerkats peering over long grass, each making sure that it wasn't their Pledge Brother calling them before returning to their rooms. Tom's head usually appears almost last but as soon as he sees Chris he doubles his speed to get down the stairs. Chris will let him get the whole way before smirking and saying, "Get my boots from beside my bed."  
   
Tom always looks vaguely distressed coming all the way down just to be told to go back up, but he dutifully heads right up the stairs, usually allowing Chris a view of his pyjama or jean-clad arse.  
   
"Run, Pledge!" Chris always yells after him, laughing with the others when Tom visibly jumps in surprise and scrambles the rest of the way up the stairs.  
  
It's convenient, having a serving boy.  
  
-  
  
Midweek they set up another challenge to determine which brother will go food shopping with his pledge. It's Brad's idea and it's harmless fun as Hell Week challenges go. They take turns hooking up to the printer in Taylor's room, each printing out the most ridiculous song lyrics they can find and folding them up into a bucket.

The idea is that each pledge plucks out a set of lyrics and recites them in their entirety with as much sincerity as possible. First pledge who laughs fails his Brother and lands them both the laborious task of heading to the store.  
  
Chubby Harvey's rendition of My Humps seems cruelly fitting, and perhaps that's why he's able to recite the whole minute and a half without cracking even as much as a smile. They're treated to Ring of Fire and Too Sexy for my Shirt next and then it's Tom's turn.  
  
He stands up slowly, rubbing his palms on his jeans and giving Chris a thumbs up before reaching into the bucket.  
  
As he unfolds his chosen lyrics it's clear to Chris that he's already amused; the way his eyes are flicking from one pledge to another, the way his mouth is twitching up a little in the corners. Chris sees his afternoon plans going down the drain.  
  
Tom opens the paper slowly, clearing his throat as he does. His eyes move in a fast sideways motion along the paper and before he can say a word he tips his head back and lets out a breathy laugh.  
  
"Pledge!" Chris groans, clenching his fists in genuine annoyance.  
  
Tom is apologetic about it but he doesn't stop laughing even as Chris grabs their coats and tosses Tom's at his head. "What lyrics did you get?" he demands.  
  
"I have no idea," Tom shakes his head, giggling again. "Something about pissing on bitches and sucking the diznik."  
  
Chris groans again. "Nicki Minaj."  
  
"How do you even know that?" Tom throws an odd look over his shoulder as they leave the house, and Chris must look vaguely embarrassed because then he's laughing again, tipping his head back with such force that he almost loses his balance on the packed snow.  
  
"Come on, idiot," Chris nudges him forward, shaking his head and not doing a great job of fighting his smile.  
  
-  
  
"Why are there so many packets of ramen noodles on this list?" Tom gripes. "Isn't the point of joining a frat house that there's a nice, fat budget for this sort of thing?"  
  
Chris grabs three batches of burger buns and throws them into the shopping cart, levelling Tom with a disapproving glare. "The point of joining a frat house is experiencing the brotherhood and camaraderie. Hence, _fraternity_."  
  
Tom rearranges the buns so that they're not sitting on top of the pile of frozen pizzas and seems entirely unconcerned by Chris' disapproval. "You say that but, well, it's all just a bit barbaric, really, isn't it?"  
  
He has a point, Chris is well aware of that, but it's not like they spend all year hazing freshmen and using them like slaves. Besides which, Chris likes Alpha Epsilon Mu. "Why are you pledging then?"  
  
"You'll think it sounds weird," Tom shrugs, glancing down at the shopping list and steering them in the direction of the condiments and tinned goods. Chris keeps quiet, waiting for the story, and eventually Tom concedes to tell it. "When I was sixteen I set out to trace the steps of someone I didn't know. He lived in New York as an adult but I've worked out that he grew up in Connecticut and, while I'm not one hundred percent sure, I'm fairly certain that he went to college here in Maine. I don't know that he studied on our campus specifically, but, I don't know...I saw the building and I just had a feeling."  
  
He looks kind of wistful, a bit zoned out with his eyes on a jar of pickles light it holds the key to his dreams.  
  
Chris can't help but laugh. "Yeah, you're right. It does sound weird."  
  
Tom shakes himself from his reverie and raises an eyebrow. "Weirder than forcing a bunch of younger boys to stand about in the snow in their underwear?"  
  
Chris isn't sure how to respond to that. "Who is he anyway?" He asks instead. "The man you didn't know."  
  
Tom shrugs like he's about to say something unimportant, but his lips curl down slightly at the edges and he doesn't sound as nonchalant as he probably aims for when he answers; "My biological father."  
  
Chris falls into a stunned silence. He's never been great with comforting people, especially anyone dealing with family issues because he comes from an almost embarrassingly supportive and loving household. He clears his throat. "And you think he pledged Alpha Epsilon Mu?"  
  
Another shrug. "I don't know."  
  
"Can't you find him and ask him?"  
  
Tom nods, chewing on his lip as he piles tinned soup and beans into the cart. "I found him already. He's buried in New York."  
  
-  
  
They don't talk about it again after that, but any time Tom smiles or laughs Chris finds himself peering closer to see whether he can detect any falsehood in it. He can't imagine growing up not knowing his own father, but as far as he can tell it hasn't had any lasting negative effects on Tom, whose smiles and laughs all seem entirely genuine and heartfelt.  
  
He's an indisputably good person, Chris suspects, which makes it all the harder to subject him to anything overly humiliating. He finds himself choosing challenges for Tom that he knows he can pass with ease, like forcing him to do a beer bong and then down eight shots of whiskey in a row before spinning him around in a circle and demanding he recite the names of Shakespeare's greatest works. He shouts the names of some that Chris isn't even sure actually exist but nobody argues, and Tom passes the challenge with a proud, slightly drunken smile, before rushing off to throw up in the bathroom.  
  
Chris takes him a glass of water and an aspirin, rubbing him between the shoulders  until he rests his forehead on the toilet seat and groans, "I think I'm done now."  
  
In the pledge's bathroom Chris lets Tom lean on him while he brushes his teeth and then guides him into the bedroom. He thinks that maybe he might get to help Tom undress but Harvey's there inside the room with a t-shirt and pyjama bottoms laid out for him and he looks at Chris oddly when he offers to stay.  
  
-  
  
Tom's scribbling away furiously in a notepad two days later when Chris drops the heavy leather-bound book on table beside him. The library is so quiet that Tom jumps, but when he sees that it's just Chris he holds up a finger while he finishes writing, dotting the end of the sentence with a flourish.  
  
"Something you need, Brother?" he asks, probably expecting that he's going to be told to put his own work aside and start writing Chris' notes instead, but Chris just slides the heavy book closer to him and leans to flip the worn pages. It puts them in fairly close proximity, the angle with which Chris has to lean over him to affectively turn from page to page, but Tom doesn't make any move to distance them at all.  
  
"This is the Alpha Epsilon Mu alumni records," Chris murmurs, smoothing his palm along a random list of names from 1955. "I thought maybe you could go through it and see if your dad's name is there."  
  
Tom opens his mouth and lets out a slow breath, smiling as he leans closer and flips to the next page, and then the next. "Can I take this to the house?"  
  
He sounds so hopeful and curious, and Chris finds himself wanting to give him everything he could ever ask for.  
  
"It's protected property, they'll raise hell if they see you take it," he hums thoughtfully, glancing up at the old librarian with his milk-bottle glasses and forming a plan. "Luckily for you, they're going to be too distracted to notice."  
  
"Chris, what-" Tom starts, but then Chris unzips his coat and hangs it over Tom's shoulders.  
  
"Put my coat on and zip it up over the book," he says, keeping a watchful eye on the other students and the staff. "Come on, I dare you."  
  
Tom huffs like he thinks Chris is joking but one serious look has him slipping his arms into the sleeves of the coat. He remains seated, artfully tugging the records book upright into his lap before zipping the coat around it.  
  
He looks ridiculous in the big puffy windbreaker, a bit like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, but it disguises the book better than Chris had thought possible, and he manages to slip out from behind the table without looking entirely awkward. His walk is something of a hobble but Chris throws an arm over his shoulder in the hopes of disguising it and when the old librarian looks up Chris just gives him an indulgent smile.  
  
Once they're out of the doors Tom breaks into a run, much more awkward than his walk, heading towards the frat housing, arms folded over his stomach to keep the heavy book in place. It's such a silly image that Chris doubles over with laughter and watches him go instead of following. Once he does set off into his own run it doesn't take him long to catch up, not with Tom being hindered by the book and the awkward coat, and they burst into the house at pretty much the same time, laughing breathlessly.  
  
Taylor is on the sofa watching the sports channel and he looks at them both as if they're stupid, grumbling, "What's so funny?"  
  
Tom snaps his mouth shut but can't seem to fight the smile, and Chris nudges him into the kitchen before levelling Taylor with the same indulgent smile he'd given the librarian.  
  
"Nothing," he shrugs. "Just a joke."  
  
Taylor raises a brow. "Well I hope it was at your pledge's expense."  
  
Chris shrugs. "Sure," he says. "Yeah."  
  
-  
  
"You seem friendly with your pledge, Christopher," Taylor says, using his full name almost like he's in trouble. It gets the attention of the other brothers.  
  
Chris shrugs. "Isn't getting to know them the point of pairing up?"  
  
"No," Taylor scoffs. "Putting them in their place is the point. Speaking of which, we haven't done anything fun to them in a while. Come up with something."  
  
He's looking at Chris when he says it, an order, and Chris lets his lips tilt down at the edges and looks around the other brothers for help. "I don't know. I'm not very creative."  
  
"Throw an idea at me," Taylor shrugs. "Something fun. Something to remind them that they're our bitches until the minute we swear them into the Brotherhood."  
  
He racks his brains, trying to think of something humiliating enough to satisfy Taylor but nothing that will hurt. It's difficult, with everybody looking at him, and he feels put on the spot. "Ah, I don't know," he shrugs, looking down at the table. "We could get dresses from Phi Alpha Mu and make the pledges do a catwalk in the square?"  
  
Taylor's face lights up like he's been handed a wad of cash and he claps Chris on the shoulder, dragging him forward to lean closer around the table. "Midnight," he whispers, "And if we're borrowing clothes from the Pams then we'd better invite them."  
  
Later, as he drags Tom out of his bed, Chris can't believe that his pledge hasn't learned anything from the last time; wearing nothing but a thin t-shirt and a pair of baggy boxer shorts that he has to keep yanking back up around his hips.  
  
"Not the snow again, Chris, come on," he complains sleepily, and his use of Chris' name is evidence enough that any fear of his pledge brother is long gone.  
  
Chris drags him downstairs and outside, shaking his head. "Shut up, Pledge."  
  
None of the pledges seem to have learned a damn thing because they're all still wearing ridiculously little. Phi Alpha Mu are all there in a line, clapping and holding out their old summer dresses and make-up, and Tom groans quietly when he sees them before falling in line with the other pledges.  
  
"These lovely ladies are your esteemed make-up artists, pledge-bitches, and this," Taylor indicates the paved path from the house to the sidewalk, "will be your catwalk. Be pretty, pledges, or there'll be trouble."  
  
-  
  
Tom looks ridiculous in light pink lipstick and too-much blusher, ridiculous and pretty, and Chris has to avert his eyes several times to avoid being caught staring. Tom doesn't exactly get into it, but he doesn't seem too humiliated by the ordeal, surviving his runway experience with only a minor fall.  
  
It's Harvey who bears the brunt of the ridicule, given that none of the girls have dresses that will fit and he's crying before they even start to apply the make-up. The girls are particularly mean, crowing wildly with laughter when he falls out of the heels and almost out of his underwear. It's Taylor who first unwraps his scarf from around himself and doubles it over, waiting until Harvey catwalks past him to whip the material out at Harvey's back. After that they're all at it, letting the fabric slap at his stomach or thighs, and Chris, so wrapped up in the atmosphere of it, lifts his own scarf over his head and twists it up until it's a plaited knot.  
  
When he snaps his wrist in Harvey's direction and it lands with a louder, duller sound than the others, hitting him right on the upper chest and resulting in the distinct wobble of excess fatty tissue. Harvey sucks in a sharp breath, wrapping his arms around himself and looking up at Chris, distressed. The majority of the brothers laugh, as do the sorority sisters, and Chris thinks that maybe he's the only one aware of the sudden sobriety that has fallen over all of the pledges.  
  
"Hit his tits!" Greg suddenly yells, twisting his own scarf up and lashing out at Harvey with it, and when Harvey tries to dodge the hit he trips up completely onto his hands and knees, making such a thud in the snow that even a few of the frat brother's wince.  
  
He screams, a blood-curdling sound, much higher in pitch than anything Chris would've thought him capable of, and then he's scrambling up to his feet and storming off towards the house, shouting " _Fuck_ Alpha Epsilon Mu!"  
  
Several of the pledges race after him, and as Tom crosses in front of Chris' path to do the same Chris grabs for his elbow to stop him in his tracks. Tom's skin is startlingly cold, textured in goose-bumps from the cold, and Chris tugs him nearer.  "Make sure you warm yourself up, okay?"  
   
Tom looks at him oddly, before nodding and racing into the house after Harvey.  
   
 -  
  
Up in his room Chris picks up the thick, flannel blanket from his bed and doubles it over his arm, smiling to himself as he heads for the middle floor. He means to throw it over Tom's shoulders, maybe rub at his arms, maybe pull him close even - under the guise of warming him up, but when he gets to Tom's room he hears angry words being exchanged and, pushing the door open, he finds Tom in the middle of the room watching helplessly as Harvey throws things into his open case. He's still got lipstick smeared across his mouth.  
   
The other pledge sharing their room earlier in the week is already gone, leaving Tom and Harvey with a bed each, but now Harvey has his backpack slung over one shoulder and he's shoving things into his case angrily.  
   
"You'd have to be an idiot to stay here, Tom," he's muttering, shaking his head. "No fraternity is worth this shit."  
   
He sees Chris in the doorway but he clearly doesn't care, and once he's angrily zipped his bag up he turns to Tom imploringly, as if silently begging him to go too.  
   
Chris panics, a sudden cold drop in his stomach at the idea of his pledge leaving, but before he's able to intervene Tom responds to Harvey with a tiny shake of his head.  
   
"Fine," Harvey sighs sadly, making towards the door. "You can be their bitch if you want to. I'm gone."  
   
And then he shoves past Chris with his shoulder, angry enough to jostle him if not really move him.  
   
"What's eating him?" Chris laughs, knowing full-well, and Tom only levels him with a scowl. Chris folds his arms across his chest, knowing he makes an intimidating picture in the doorway, and Tom shrinks down to sit on his bed with a sigh. "Are you unhappy, Pledge? Do we need to recite the oath?"  
   
"No, Pledge Brother, I'm sorry," Tom shakes his head. "I'm happy."  
   
"Good," Chris says, and his intentions are dust when he can do nothing but angrily toss the blanket in Tom's face. "Try and get some sleep. I want you up early."  
   
He pulls the door shut behind him and finds himself fighting an urge to drop back against it.  
   
-

For the whole day Tom is quiet, pensive, and Chris starts to feel more and more like Tom might be about to follow in Harvey's example. He tries to approach him in the kitchen while the pledges are washing dishes but there are too many people around and Tom mostly ignores him in favour of putting plates and cutlery away.  
  
After classes Chris rushes back to the house but Tom isn't around, and so he goes to his room in a mood and reads the same line of his text book over and over again until he goes dizzy. Lying down on his bed is a bad idea because it's dark when he wakes up again and when he stumbles downstairs everyone is sitting around various parts of the living room digging into pizza and grabbing handfuls of nachos from a big bowl in the middle.  
  
Tom doesn't look at him as he sits down but he does hold out a plate of pizza slices and sticky nachos that he's set aside specifically for Chris.  
  
It's little comfort, and Chris goes to bed again feeling restless from his earlier sleep and hung up on the idea that Tom is one floor down, alone, going over in his head all the reasons to leave. Maybe remembering that first night in the snow when Chris humiliated him by making him kiss his boots, or remembering Harvey's face when Chris got him with the scarf.  
  
He means to head down for a glass of water but instead finds himself at Tom's door, hands clammy and shaking. He opens the door slowly, undecided as to whether or not he hopes to find Tom awake.  
  
He's there - in his bed in his boxer briefs and another threadbare grey t-shirt - in the far bed like his first night in the house only this time he's thankfully alone, asleep on his back with the blanket down past his hips and his shirt rucked up a little over his bellybutton. His mouth is open, just slightly, and he doesn't stir even as Chris' footsteps cause the floorboards to whine.  
  
He wants to press Tom down into the mattress, touch him and show him all the things he can't say. He thinks that he could; that Tom would do whatever he said, and the thought frightens him.

He's there at the edge of the bed with his fists clenched, breathing deeply to calm himself, when Tom shifts and blinks awake, slack expression tightening into one of surprise.  
  
"Pledge Brother?" he whispers, voice slow and croaky from sleep.  
  
Chris shakes his head. "It's okay Tom, sorry I woke you."  
  
It's the first time he's said Tom's name. It's always been "pledge" or "curly" or something derogatory, and Tom's face softens. He seems a little breathless, eyes suddenly bright and wide, and Chris wonders if he's feeling afraid or if he's feeling something else entirely.  
  
He's probably just projecting, Chris thinks, imagining that Tom wants something he doesn't so that he doesn't feel so bad about creeping in here like a pervert and standing over his pledge, but when he turns to leave Tom grabs out for him, for his thick wrist, and Chris thinks he must look startled because Tom swallows noisily and repeats "Pledge Brother...?"  
  
Chris shakes his head, he's so out of sorts, he was about to press himself onto this sleeping freshman, about to  lift his shirt over his head and hold him there so he woke up with his arms tangled in the material, trapped, at the mercy of Chris' desires, and, God, he really is a pervert.  
  
He says "Tom..." because he needs to get out of this room, but Tom tugs harder until Chris has no choice but to sit on the edge of the mattress, and then Tom pulls his knees beneath himself and shuffles closer.  
  
He lets out a breath when Chris' eyes fall to his bare thighs, whispers, "Did you need something, Brother?" and then, with a subconscious lick of his lips, "Did you need me to serve you?"  
  
Chris sucks in a breath through his teeth and stares over at Tom on his knees, his eyes looking all watery and bright in the dark.  
  
"It's okay, Brother," Tom nods, even though he's shaking. He curls his fingers around Chris' bicep and nods. "I pledged myself to you."  
  
"To do as I ordered..." Chris nods slowly, reaching out his fingertips to Tom's knee, blonde hairs barely visible in the dark. "What if I ask too much?"  
  
Tom shudders at the tentative touch and Chris presses his fingers there harder, begins to slip his palm up the soft skin, but then Tom unfolds himself from the bed and moves around to Chris' front. His arm and leg hairs prickle with goose bumps like he's out in the snow again and he slips down onto his knees between Chris' thighs.  
  
Chris sucks in a breath and reflexively reaches for Tom's curls.  
  
"It's not too much, Brother Chris." Tom whispers. He's looking up into Chris' eyes, unblinking and sure, and then he licks at his mouth again and drops his eyes to the tent in Chris' sweatpants. Shakily, he starts to recite his pledge oath.  
  
"I do hereby affirm and declare that I am desirous of achieving membership in Alpha Epsilon Mu; that I will devote my time and talents for the betterment of the fraternity; that I will obey the rules and regulations-"  
  
Chris slips his hand deeper into the curls behind his ear and slowly pulls him closer, spreading his knees wider as he does, angling Tom's face so that his lips brush his hard cock through his sweatpants as he carries on;  
  
"I pledge myself to my Brother Chris. I will respect and abide by his word, I will serve him with pride and humility. To all of this I pledge my sacred honor. So help me God."  
  
He finishes with his eyes on Chris', looking up through his lashes, and Chris is unable to stop himself from rocking gently against his mouth.  
  
"If you're only doing this to guarantee yourself a place in the frat then you're wasting your time," Chris says, rocking harder even as he does, pressing Tom's mouth closer using the back of his head. "I don't have that kind of leverage."  
  
But in response Tom just opens his mouth and sucks wetly at the material covering Chris' cock. Chris groans, forgetting whatever else he was going to say, and scrambles to tug his sweats down, lifting his crotch against Tom's face to pull the material  down his ass and hips until his cock slips free, red-tipped and slick.  
  
"You want to suck it, pledge, you have to suck it properly."  
  
He feels suddenly greedy and powerful commanding Tom like this, unsure whether he wants to let Tom worship his cock as he pleases or make him take it deep until his eyes water.  
  
Tom, such a good pledge, lunges forward to lick a wet swirl around the head, pulling his tongue back into his mouth as if to taste the salt of Chris' precum before coming back for more. He rolls his wet lips under his teeth like he's had practise and for a moment Chris can do nothing but seethe at the thought. Tom hollows his cheeks and sucks gently, tongue flicking against Chris' slit.  
  
"You've done this before," Chris grits out, mixed up between gratitude and jealousy at whoever taught Tom to play his tongue so expertly along the veined underside of his shaft as he pulls back. "How many cocks have you sucked, pledge?"  
  
There's a wet pop as Tom lets his cock slip from between his lips, and he looks up at Chris with a small frown. "Just one."  
  
Chris clenches his jaw. "Liar."  
  
"No," Tom gasps,  "I wouldn't lie to you pledge brother. My friend's older brother, we used to- but nothing more than blowjobs, I swear."  
  
It's such a filthy, hot image, some older boy guiding Tom's head between his legs and taking advantage of his eager young mouth, and Chris almost feels bad for doing the same, but Tom's eyes are shifting between his face and his cock like he can't choose where to focus his gaze and Chris knows that he wants this too.  
  
"Show me," he says, slipping his thumb around to press at Tom's pink bottom lip. "Be a good pledge and show me what you've been taught."  
  
This time before Tom takes him in he wets his palm with his tongue and makes a fist around the base of Chris' cock. He follows his order with determination, twisting and stroking in time with each bob of his head, drooling generously, sweeping his tongue around the head of Chris' cock on each upwards stroke.  
  
Chris tips his head back and grinds his teeth, pulling roughly at Tom's blonde curls each time he sucks greedily around Chris' throbbing length. When he looks down again at Tom's red lips, his wet chin, he has to fight not to close his eyes.  
  
It's almost too much, so many sensations at once; wet sucks and heated strokes and slippery, swirling licks, and then Tom presses down, down, until he's nosing at Chris' pubic hair and his throat is fluttering wildly against the tip of his cock.  
  
Chris thrusts once, twice, into the wet heat of Tom's throat, until Tom chokes and pulls back desperately, knocking Chris' hand from the back of his head.  
  
He looks utterly ruined, kneeling between Chris' legs and gasping for breath. The corners of his eyes are sparkling with the threat of tears and the whole time he doesn't look away from Chris' face.  
  
"Open your mouth, pledge," Chris grunts, taking Tom's hand roughly with his own and pulling it back to his dick, keeping his own hand around it to guide him into rough strokes, aiming the head at Tom's mouth. "Stick out that tongue..."  
  
Tom does as ordered, and with every downward stroke Chris' cock hits the tip of his tongue, his hot breaths fan against the wet head and Chris' knees tighten around his shoulders as he tilts his hips up and lets go, shooting what feels like days worth of hot come into Tom's mouth, a particularly enthusiastic spurt hitting the back of his throat.  
  
Tom coughs and huffs, licking at his lips and teeth, wipes his chin with his fingers and licks at those too and Chris groans. Tom's other hand, he can see, is down between his legs, rubbing at his covered dick.  
  
He tugs Tom up onto his lap so that he's straddling one of his legs and grabs his ass, encouraging him to move against the muscle of his thigh.  
  
"Make yourself come," he says, squeezing Tom's cheeks with both hands. "Rub yourself off on me."  
  
"Yes, Brother, thank you," Tom breathes out, like he's so desperate for it that it's enough to be allowed to hump against Chris like a dog.  
  
He seems to like having Chris' hands on him, feeling his thick fingers spreading his cheeks through his underwear. He whines, like maybe he's hoping Chris might fuck him with them, but Chris just pulls him closer and encourages his undulant rocking.  
  
Chris slips his hand up Tom's back to grip the soft curls at the top of his neck, presses his nose to Tom's cheek and says, "Will you be like this for me after pledge week? Hm? If I get to keep you?" and Tom's mouth is right by his ear when he whimpers and nods, and Chris presses a damp kiss to his sweaty cheek, the affection contrasting his words. "You'll be my house slut?"  
  
"Yes," Tom gasps out, rocking more forcefully against Chris' thigh.  
  
His breaths are quick, shaky, and Chris wishes he could listen to them forever, but Tom seems close to coming now and Chris wants to give him that. "Yes what?" he murmurs, almost a growl.  
  
Tom whimpers again, louder than either of them can really afford in such a full house, says, " _Yes Brothe_ r," and then comes in his underwear.  
  
Chris holds him there, lets him squeeze his thighs around Chris' leg and rock until he's completely spent, and then Tom pauses, sucking in rickety breaths and incrementally loosening the hold he has on Chris' shoulders.  
  
He means to slip away, Chris can tell, to climb off of Chris and maybe shrink back into himself, go back to avoidance, but Chris is determined not to let that happen.  
  
He places his palm over Tom's mouth to muffle to squawk he emits as he's manhandled sideways across Chris' body and onto the bed. He looks alarmed but he doesn't fight as he's laid out on his back - probably too exhausted from so frantically riding Chris' knee. Chris moves himself to hover just over Tom's body, barely allowing an inch between them, and stares down into his clear eyes.  
  
He lets his hand slip away from Tom's mouth but allows his fingertips to linger there, testing the softness of his lips. Both are breathing heavily, their chests touching with each deep inhale as they fall into balance with each other. Chris lets his hand slip away completely to rest beside Tom's shoulder.  
  
"I'm going to kiss you now," he says, and Tom's lips tip up at the corners in the threat of a smile.

 


End file.
